


Clean Slate

by twisting_vine_x



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-19
Updated: 2012-06-19
Packaged: 2017-11-08 02:51:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/438323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twisting_vine_x/pseuds/twisting_vine_x
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two brothers, a few bottles of beer, and a 3 am chat on Bobby’s balcony. Coda to S6E16.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clean Slate

Glancing at the clock on the wall, which is slowly ticking its way past three am, Dean takes another swig of his beer and opens the front door, stepping out onto the dimly lit balcony. The night air bites right through him, but his brother’s sitting on the other side of the door, glancing up at him with eyes that are so earnest they can’t be anything but human, and the warmth that spreads through Dean has nothing to do with the beer in his hands.

“You alright?”

Sammy nods and drops his eyes to the balcony, and Dean settles into a chair beside him, something in his chest tightening as they knock their bottles together, each of them taking a generous sip. Bobby’s inside on the couch, passed out from finishing a bottle of Johnny Walker in Rufus’ honour, and Dean feels a sigh slide from his body, the exhaustion creeping through his veins making it difficult to keep his eyes open.

“Why aren’t you sleeping?”

Even after everything – or maybe in spite of everything – Sam can still read his mind, and it draws a reluctant curve to Dean’s lips, working muscles he’d forgotten were even there.

“Could ask you the same.”

Sam smiles at the response, ducking his head slightly, and Dean fights the urge to say something stupid, or to do something ridiculous like reach out and squeeze Sam’s fingers in his own. He’s just beginning to realize that every single time his brother does something human, even if it’s in response to pain – Dean can feel something in his soul heal a little, and he almost wishes he had a higher power to pray to, to beg that the wall in Sam’s mind never comes crashing down.

“I’ve been… not exactly sleeping well.”

“Memories?”

“They could be. Or they could just be nightmares.”

“I’m heavily in favour of that last one.”

“Me too.”

Sam’s looking down at the balcony again, and Dean finds himself closing his eyes, wrapping his fingers a little tighter around the cool beer bottle in his hand, clinging to the false promise of relief between his fingers. He had killed their cousin today, and Sam had killed their grandfather, and Bobby had killed his old hunting partner – and if anything was worthy of them all drinking themselves into a stupor, today’s events certainly met the requirements.

“I just –”

Then Sam bites off whatever he was going to say, gnawing on his lip before taking another swig of his beer, and Dean realizes that this is like being exposed to a particularly vindictive mirror. If these kinds of drunken half-questions are what Sam has been dealing with for years, then it’s a wonder that he never bashed Dean over the head with his own beer bottle.

“Yeah, Sam?”

“It’s just – did you mean it, Dean? What you said about a clean slate?”

Dean had been sober when he said it the first time, but it’s not something he wants to talk about now, even with a bottle of liquid courage in his hand. Even if every word was true, and it’s not going to do them any good to dwell on past events, he still doesn’t want to belabour the subject of his sudden forgiveness.

“Dean?”

The damn puppy eyes are out in full force, and even if Dean doesn’t want to actually have A Conversation about this, he knows that Sammy’s not going to let it go – and he wants Sam to know that he meant exactly what he said, even if this talk of feelings is making him squirm in lots of unhappy ways.

“Yeah, Sam.” Something in Dean’s gut twists a little with the words, but not in a way that necessarily hurts. “Yeah, I meant it. We’ve both died too many times for either of us to hold a grudge.”

Sam looks like he’s still struggling for words, but he settles for a pained smile that somehow still makes him look younger for a moment, and his eyes are soft and oh-so-human as they focus on Dean. 

“I really have pulled a lot of crap, you know. How can you just –”

“I’m not gonna let you spend the rest of your life hating yourself.”

“But –”

“No buts, Sammy. Clean slate, like I said.”

Sam is still staring at him as though this is too good to be true, and Dean takes another cooling drink of his beer, realizing that he truly does mean what he’s saying. He may still be aching from the last few years of his life, but after his little stint in Hell, he knows exactly what it’s like to drown in self-loathing, and he refuses to see his brother slide into that nasty cycle of alcoholism and random bursts of violence. 

“I don’t even know everything I did to you.”

“Yeah, well – let’s keep it that way.”

“And you’ll never tell me anything?”

Dean hopes the look on his face conveys the stupidity of that statement, and when Sam reluctantly nods his understanding, Dean knows that his message has been clearly heard. No matter how much his brother might bitch about losing his memories, Sam is never going to know that he let Dean get turned into a vampire, or that he nearly killed Bobby – for if the blind terror that had overtaken Dean when he thought he’d killed Bobby is any indication, then Dean doesn’t even want to imagine how Sam might react to news of his last year.

“You want to kick down that wall, Sam?”

“Of course not.”

“Then drop it. Just fucking drop it.”

“But –”

“Come on, man, put yourself in my position – would you tell me anything?”

When Sam shakes his head and makes an exasperated noise, Dean nods his approval, finishes the last of his beer, and climbs to his feet. “Alright, little brother. There’s more beer in the fridge with our names on it. You in for the long haul tonight, or you ready to turn in?”

“I won’t be able to sleep. And I’d rather sit out here with you, anyway.”

The warmth that flashes across the skin of Dean’s face is ridiculous, but he can’t stop the tiniest curve of his lips, as Sam stares up at him with something that looks like hope. “You’re such a goddamn sucker, Sam.”

“And you need to learn how to talk about feelings without getting a rash.”

“Don’t be a whiny bitch.”

“Then quit being such a jerk.”

Dean can feel the beginnings of an actual goddamn smile try to sneak across his face, even if he’s still so exhausted and wrung-out he doesn’t know how he’s still standing, and then Sam is getting to his feet and shouldering past Dean into the house, gently patting Dean on the arm as he does.

“You stay put and get comfortable – I’ll get the drinks. It’s the least I can do.”

He’s gone before Dean can confirm the veracity of that statement, and Dean sinks back into the chair with a relieved groan, closing his eyes to enjoy the feel of cool air on his face, and realizing that he does feel somehow lighter for having had this conversation. Even if words can’t easily fix everything between them, he’s not fool enough to spend their remaining time together fighting over the damage they’ve done to each other, and he knows now that they’ve both been played – time and again – by forces much more powerful than themselves.

“So we’re really good?”

Dean has barely moved by the time Sam comes back outside and drops into the seat beside him, their bottles pressing together in the chilly darkness, and he can’t even get annoyed by the questioning, knowing that he’d be doing the same if the situation was reversed. 

“Yeah, Sammy. We’re really good.”

“Great.” There’s a long pause, and Dean can see the hesitant smile on Sam’s exhausted face, even with his eyes still closed. “Well, thanks, Dean. Seriously.”

Dean’s stupid heart turns over for a second, and he keeps his eyes closed as he nods in response, not trusting his vocal chords to convey any semblance of a steady verbal response. There may still yet be hell to pay over that wall that Death put up, but if this is the closest thing to happy that he and Sam are going to find for a long time, then Dean’s not going to waste a moment of having his little brother back in his life.


End file.
